


Come Up For More

by coraxes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coraxes/pseuds/coraxes
Summary: Spike gets the Initiative doctor to cooperate and take his chip out--just in time to realize he's in love with the Slayer.  So of course he's got no choice but to stick around, not get staked, seduce the Slayer, play nice with the Scooby Gang, avoid the local hellgod, and try really, really hard not to kill anyone.Shouldn't be too hard, right?  Right.Goes AU from "Out of My Mind".





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is in response to Sunalso's challenge at Elysian Fields called "The Chip Is Down." Basically--what if the Initiative scientist had made good on his word and gotten rid of Spike's chip?
> 
> Sounds angsty, but knowing me this is gonna lean toward the fluff/comedy side. 
> 
> Title is from Billy Idol's "[Can't Break Me Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rUrYN4cnGs)." Check it out; it's a really Spike song.

It had been a good battle.  One Spike would be feeling for days to come, even with Slayer blood to heal him.  But now it was over, the Slayer panting for breath with his arm pressed her throat.  Her stake had been knocked aside and now she was weaponless, helpless, her eyes full of anger and hate and…resignation.  That slayer death wish, carried through generations.

 

This was it, Spike realized; he was finally done with this woman who had haunted his every step since that first night he came to Sunnydale.  He was going to drain her and then he’d never see that bouncing golden hair again, or smell the sharp tang of her fruity shampoo.  Never feel her fist breaking his nose again or see a sneer on those glossy lips.

 

Her chin tilted up, jaw set; she seemed to look down that perky nose at him even now.   _Just do it,_  she seemed to be saying.   _Get it over with.  Take me out of a world that has you in it._

 

Spike leaned in.  Cartilage cracked, bone shifted, teeth retreated into his gums.  “You knew this would have to happen, Slayer,” he found himself saying, and kissed her. 

 

His arm fell from her throat and Buffy gasped, responding immediately to the kiss.  She tugged him closer and Spike wrapped an arm around her waist.  His other hand he buried in her hair, cupping the back of her skull.  “God, Buffy, I love you--I love you so much, I could never--”

 

“ _Spike_ ,” she groaned, and pulled at his lip with her teeth.

 

And then he woke up, alone in a motel bedroom.  If his heart could beat, it would be hammering in his chest; instead Spike just stared at the ceiling, eyes wide with panic.

 

“Oh, God, no.   _Please,_ no.”

 

\--

 

The fight had actually gone as Spike had dreamed it, to a point.  Without the chip and with a years’ worth of anger, Spike had managed to gain the upper hand.  There was that moment of stillness when he had her pinned to a wall, when he realized that this was the end of Sunnydale’s Slayer.

 

But then that wanker Finn had cried out in pain.  Instinctively Spike had turned to the noise, and Buffy had used the distraction to kick him away.  They had stared at each other, Buffy’s eyes darting between Spike and her dying beau.  And without thinking, without considering why, Spike had made the decision easy for her.  He had turned and run.

 

Harmony had followed him out.  “You  _had_ her, Spike,” she had whined as they ran through the sewers.  “You could have killed her right there!  Now she’s totally going to come after us.”

 

He hated her more because she was right and they both knew it.  “She will at that.  You better get out of town, Harm,” he’d snapped.  “Now that she knows I’m a threat, the Slayer’s going to be gunning for me.  It’s best if you stay away.”

 

“But Spikey--”

 

“ _Leave_ ,” he had growled, and thankfully that was enough.  Harmony ran off.  And Spike wasn’t so stupid as to stay in the crypt.  Buffy--the Slayer--might be occupied now with her boytoy, but he knew she wouldn’t stay that way.  She was too strong for that.  As soon as she made sure that cardboard cutout of a boyfriend was safe, she would be coming after Spike.

 

There was no reason for him to stay.  He was free--to hunt, to kill, to leave this fucking town.  All he had to do was get away from Buffy Bloody Summers and her gang of Merry Men.

 

But did he really want to leave Sunnydale?  On the one hand…there was the small matter of his time there being worse than all the previous hundred years put together.  But Sunnydale also held people whose blood needed drinking.  And it had the Niblet, and Joyce…

 

“Bugger that,” Spike had muttered, throwing what few possessions he cared about into a duffle bag.  He should get the hell out of this place and be done with it.  At the very least, he needed to get out of this crypt before the Slayer decided to stake him in his sleep.

 

An odd feeling had settled into the pit of his stomach.  He should be cursing every devil in hell over tonight, cursing himself for letting the Slayer get away when he  _had_ her, right there, every self-righteous inch of her his to kill. 

 

So why had he only felt relief, instead?

 

It had taken a bloody  _dream,_ of all things, to answer that question.

 

\--

 

Spike paced his motel room, unable to sleep after hours of tossing and turning.  At least he’d chucked Harmony and could finally have a place to himself.

 

This was  _wrong._ So goddamned wrong it was ridiculous.  Him?  In love with the  _Slayer_?  He’d wanted her  _dead_ only a few hours ago.  If Finn hadn’t distracted him, he’d have drunk her down right there.  And now he was in  _love_ with her. 

 

But--fuck.  He hadn’t wanted her dead then, had he?  He had wanted her beaten, wanted her blood, wanted a third notch on his belt.  But it had been a long time since he wanted Buffy Summers gone from the earth.  God, even--he’d thought about what kind of trophy he would take, after.  She didn’t have a blessed weapon to leave him a scar like that first Slayer, or a coat like Nikki’s.  Most of the time Spike had decided he’d take a bit of her hair, keep it in a locket as if he was mourning her.

 

It wasn’t like there had ever been much of a line between love and death, for him.

 

With a roar, Spike grabbed the TV from its stand and threw it across the room.  “The fucking  _slayer,_ ” he told the empty room, and sat down heavily on the bed.

 

He was in love with the slayer, and he only knew it once he’d made sure she would have to kill him the next time she saw him. 

 

She wouldn’t be the woman he loved if she didn’t.

 

Spike buried his face in his hands and started to laugh.

 

“God, Dru, if you could see me now,” he said.  “S’pose I’m just like your  _daddy_ now after all.”

 

A knock on the door startled him out of  _that_ disturbing thought.  He could hear a heartbeat on the other side of the door, smell the delicious cocktail of rushing blood. 

 

Spike sat up.

 

He could feed again.

 

Forget being Angel.  He was nothing like his grandsire, never would be.  That prick had ruined his unlife--if he’d never fallen for Buffy, never lost his soul, Spike wouldn’t be in this hell in the first place. 

 

He might be in love with Buffy, but that didn’t mean he had to come over all broody.  Spike was a free man again.  He would damn well  _act_ like it.

 

Spike’s breakfast knocked on the door again.  “Housekeeping,” she called.

 

“Come in,” he said, stepping away from the doorway.

 

A woman stepped through the door, tugging her cart behind her, and took in the smashed TV.  “You’re going to have to pay for that, you know,” she said, scolding.

 

Spike smirked.  “Shame.”  No, he bloody wouldn’t. 

 

He waited until she shut the door and turned her back on him before he pinned her to the wall and sunk his fangs into her neck.

 

The taste of human blood--fresh, hot--in his mouth was the best moment of Spike’s unlife.  He groaned, knees buckling, and ignored her thrashing.  No one would come running when they heard the screams; this was Sunnydale, where people ignored that if they knew what was good for them.

 

After a few mouthfuls, the screams turned into whimpers.  She wasn’t dead yet, but she was losing strength.

 

Unbidden, an image of Buffy appeared in Spike’s head.

 

_If you do this, she’ll never forgive you._

 

And before Spike quite knew what he was doing, he shifted, reverting back to his real face.  He stepped away from the woman; her hand flew to her neck, and she stared at him as if she didn’t know whether to thank him or run screaming.

 

“Go,” Spike said, tilting his head toward the door.  He licked the last of her blood from his now-blunt teeth.  “Thanks for the drink.”

 

She ran, and Spike realized he was completely fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/criticism are <3.


	2. One: Brilliant Advice

After Spike let the housekeeper go, he made his way into the sewers with the help of an ugly maroon comforter, only barely singeing his fingers in the process.  Shame, really; he almost wanted some poor sap who fancied themselves a vampire hunter to try and take him on. 

Instead he made do with a few fights in the sewers and another catch-and-release feeding when he stumbled on a homeless bloke sitting in the water.  A year ago, when he’d been bathing in human blood every night and hadn’t in his worst nightmares considered downing that shite from the butcher, Spike wouldn’t have bothered with such easy pickings.  Now, though, it took all of his willpower to let the man go.  But he did--set him down, let him stumble off.  Spike scowled at the man’s retreating back. He better not get himself killed later.  If the Slayer saw, she’d be sure to blame him for it.

And all day, when there wasn’t violence to distract him from his introspection, Spike wondered--what did he do now?

He couldn’t leave town.  The thought crossed his mind once or twice, but Spike dismissed it.  The Slayer was here, and he wasn’t one to run away from the people he loved. 

Problem was, he hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do besides that.  He hadn’t wooed a woman since--well, since ever.  His feeble attempts at courtship as a human were unsuccessful, to say the least.  And when Drusilla turned him she expected him to love her.  While he’d certainly done plenty for her, he hadn’t had to catch her eye first.  The closest he’d come to seducing her was when she would leave him for Angelus at times.  Those attempts were almost always failures, and besides, what worked on Dru wouldn’t work for Buffy. 

He needed…something.  A plan, a minion, advice. 

But as the hours ticked on closer to sunset, Spike decided what he really needed was a drink.

He went to Willy’s, knowing it was probably a mistake and not caring.  If the Slayer found him there, so be it; at least he would get a chance to see her.  “Besides,” he muttered to himself as he popped up into the street, “it’s not as if she owns the whole bloody town.  I can go where I like.”

Willy wasn’t happy to see him--“The Slayer came around looking for you last night.  Don’t know what you did to get on her shit list, but you’re not worth my bar”--but once Spike flashed some fang and made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, Willy served him.

Spike was four drinks deep when he heard a familiar high-pitched voice.

“Oh, come on.  I can buy something--you have Coke, right?”

His head jerked around, looking through the crowd to see the teenager standing at the door, arguing with the owner.  “We don’t serve kids here, and we sure as hell don’t serve the Slayer’s sister.  Take your allowance and--”

“Now, now,” Spike began as he sidled up behind Willy.  His words came out less smooth than he meant them to, but that didn’t matter.  “Is that any way to treat a lady?”

“Spike!” Dawn said, and then elbowed past Willy.  Her arms twitched as if to hug him, and then she thought better of it.  “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Is that right?”  Spike grinned.  This?  This, he could work with.  The beginnings of a plan were forming in his mind, and unlike his other plans, he felt like this one had a pretty good chance of working.  “I had to go to ground, Niblet.  Figured your sister would be on the warpath.”

Dawn wrinkled her nose.  “Yeah, kinda.  She said you’d gotten your chip out and now you’re gonna try to kill all of us.”

“Well, she’s half-right,” Spike said.  More like three-quarters; there were a few of Buffy’s little gang he wouldn’t mind taking out--Finn being number one on that list--but he knew better than to expect to get away with it.  He glanced at Willy.  “Why don’t we take this elsewhere, Bit?  I’ve got a few things I want to ask about.”

“Which half?”

Spike looked at her blankly.  Dawn sighed.  “Which half was I right about?”  She was trying to look cool, Spike could tell, classic teenage bravado, but he could hear her heartbeat rabbiting away.  It made him feel a bit better.  He might be on a leash of his own making now, but at least he could still scare little girls.

“The killing all of you part,” Spike said dismissively.  “Don’t worry, Bit.  You’re not in any danger from me tonight.”

Dawn rolled her eyes at the implication.  “Okay.  Where are we going?”

\--

The good thing about Sunnydale was that there was always an abandoned building or ten to camp out in.  The one Spike picked was already being used by a wannabe-master vamp, but Spike staked him and his two minions easily enough; they were all fledglings, even the master, who had obviously only made more of his kind by pure dumb luck.  Dawn watched quietly for once.  She’d been quiet most of the way to the old warehouse, hands in her pockets.  She was trying to look cool.  Spike recognized it, as he spent quite a bit of time attempting the same.

Once the nest was reduced to dust, Spike wiped his hands on his jeans and held the door open for Dawn.  “Go on, then.”

She proceeded hesitantly, the scattered lamps and candles not quite bright enough for her human eyes, and sat down in a beaten fold-out chair.  Spike just hopped up on a nearby table.  “So, what did you want to talk about?”  Her eyes narrowed.  “You don’t want my help, like, killing Buffy or something, right?  ‘Cause you’re really cool and all but she _is_ my sister, and even though it would be cool if you could beat her in a fight or something--”

“None of that,” Spike snapped.  He pulled his lighter out of his pocket, not in the mood to smoke, just wanting something to do with his hands.  And he didn’t look at Dawn when he asked, “How do I get Buffy--the Slayer--how do I get on their good side?”

Dawn didn’t respond for a moment.  Spike glanced over to see her staring at him owlishly.  “Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped.  “I don’t want to be one of you lot, alright, I just want to be able to not get staked.  Seeing as my moral compass points due south, thought it’d be good to have some perspective.  That’s all.”

“Oh my God,” said Dawn.  Her shock had faded, and Spike could see a grin spreading across her face.  “You totally like us, don’t you?”

“Do _not,_ ” Spike snapped, scowling.  “I just--look, you going to help me or not?”

“You _liiiiiiiike_ us,” Dawn sang.  “I knew it!  I tried to tell Buffy, but she was all, ‘he almost killed me’, blah blah blah.”

Spike was seriously reconsidering his decision to not rip her throat out.  “ _Dawn._ ”  His self-control felt worn to shreds; he’d gotten--well, not _good_ at not attacking people under the chip, but better at reining himself in.  Now that the only barrier between himself and a good meal was his impulse control, he didn’t completely trust himself to not kill the girl while she was being an annoyance. 

He’d regret it as soon as he did it, but if she kept on like that, Spike wasn’t sure regret would stop him.

Maybe Dawn saw some of that in him, because she stopped prattling.  “What do you want to know?”

“I know I can’t kill humans.  Beyond that, I’m a bit fuzzy.”  He pulled a cigarette from his pocket; the nicotine helped soothe one urge, at least.  “Still need to hunt, don’t I?  What if I played catch-and-release, is that alright?”

Dawn frowned.  “Like, you bite someone but you don’t kill them?  Can you do that?”

“Done it a couple times already today,” Spike said with a shrug.  “Think one might’ve pissed his pants, but they were no worse for wear.”

She thought about it and then shook her head.  “Okay, let’s play pretend.  You bite somebody in an alley.  Buffy or Xander or Willow see you.  You let the guy go and say you weren’t going to kill them.  There’s no _way_ they would believe that, right?”

Fuck.  He hadn’t thought of that.  Probably should have.  “So how am I supposed to eat, then?  Blood bags?”  Spike’s nose wrinkled in distaste.  Blood bags barely tasted human.  He sure as hell wasn’t going the suckjob route--no matter what he was reduced to, some things would always be off-limits.

Dawn frowned, kicking her heels against the chair legs.   “Blood bags are for the hospital.  People _need_ those.  Why can’t you just keep going to the butcher’s like you have been?”

He scowled at her.  “You’ve got to be joking.  After all the trouble I went through to get this bloody thing out, why would I go back to that garbage?”

“Is it really that bad?” Dawn asked.  “I mean, you can still fight people and stuff now.  I know it’s gross, but…”

“It’s not about the _taste_.”  Spike pushed to his feet and started to pace in front of the desk.  “I’m a predator, Little Bit.  Top of the bloody food chain, your sister excepted.  Taste is disgusting, yeah, but that doesn’t matter half as much as the hunt.  The kill.  Hearing someone’s heart kicking up like yours is now, waiting to see if they run…”  He stopped abruptly in front of her chair, something in him roaring in satisfaction at her sharp intake of breath.  “It’s not about the blood,” he said flatly, staring the little girl down.  “It’s about being what I am.”

“You’re scaring me,” Dawn said.  Not whining or pleading, just matter-of-fact. 

Spike blinked and took a step back, breaking the spell they’d both fallen under.  “Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head.  He’d brought the kid to help him; treating her like a bloody rabbit wasn’t fair. 

Then he realized what had happened.  The little chit had disarmed him with just a few words.  She was _supposed_ to be scared of him, goddammit!  Spike swore.  “Perfect,” he snarled.  “Bad enough the Slayer’s got me under her thumb…”

“It’s ‘cause you like me,” Dawn said.  She bit her lip.  “So you really want to stay and not murder people?”

“ _Yes_ , bloody hell,” Spike snapped.  He thought he’d made that pretty clear.  Though looming over her had perhaps blurred the lines a bit.

“The problem is going to be convincing Buffy that you’re really not killing people,” Dawn said.  Spike nodded; he’d thought of that too.  Finally she shrugged.  “If you did go to the butcher’s a lot, at least you would have proof that you’ve been getting blood somewhere else.  I’m just saying.”

Spike groaned.  “ _Fine._ If that’s all you can think of…”

Dawn shrugged.  “Oh!  And super don’t be mean to Willow or Xander or Giles or anyone if you see them outside.  Because they’ll be expecting you to like, attack them, so don’t make them think you are.  But _also_ don’t be too nice, because you were really nice last year and then you kinda betrayed them.”

“Did _not,_ ” Spike snapped.  At Dawn’s incredulous look, he said, “I wasn’t on their side to begin with.  I was a _prisoner._ That wasn’t betrayal, that was looking out for my own interests.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Whatever.  Just--no violence, but don’t be too nice.”

Seemed like a load of trouble for people he only half-wanted dead, but it made sense, Spike supposed.  “Fine.  Any other brilliant advice?”

Dawn thought for a moment and then shook her head.  “Not that I can think of.”

“Alright,” Spike said, sighing.  It wasn’t all he’d hoped for, but it was a start; and since he could feel himself sobering up he’d probably retain it.  “S’pose I’d best be getting you home, then.  Don’t want you walking around by yourself after dark.”

“That’s it?”

He blinked.  “Well, yeah.  Just wanted some human perspective.”

Dawn’s mouth folded into a pout as she turned on him the most powerful puppy-dog eyes known to vampire kind.  “Can’t I talk to you about like, school and stuff?”

“No!”

The puppy-dog eyes intensified.  Spike glared back.

And then he rolled his eyes and sat back down on the desk.  “What did that wanker Tyler do this time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little unsure of how I've written Dawn here (and just characterization in general). So comments/criticism are definitely welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/criticism are <3.


End file.
